In case you forgot, Juana is my mom's best friend-the playwright with thirteen dogs and four ex-husbands.
"Why?" I asked, trying to figure out which thing in the drawer was a ladle.
"I have to pick something up." Mom put on her coat.
"What?"
"It's private," Mom said, smiling like she was someone special.
Whatever. I was making doughnuts. I wasn't going to get dragged into the Elaine Oliver show right then.
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She left. Dad was working at his desk, composing a newsletter about early spring plantings.
I got out flour, baking soda, eggs, milk, butter, sugar and all that. I created an emulsion of butter and sugar creamed together that would have made Fleischman proud. My batter turned into dough as I added flour. I rolled it into a nice little ball, and ...
Damn. Now I was supposed to chill the dough for two hours. How could I have not read that part of the recipe?
I stuck it in the freezer for half an hour.
Now to heat oil in the big pot we used for pasta (back when my mother let us eat pasta). The recipe said 365 degrees.
How was I supposed to tell when it was 365 degrees? I looked at the bottom of the recipe. "Special equipment needed: candy thermometer." I had no candy thermometer.
Who has a candy thermometer? That's like a highly specialized item.
I called Meghan first, because she lives near me, but she didn't have one, so I called Nora.
Nora didn't pick up the phone.
Gideon did.
"I thought you were at Evergreen," I told him. "I don't have classes on Fridays, so I drove home this afternoon," he said. "Nora's at a yearbook meeting."
"Do you guys have a candy thermometer?"
"Uh, maybe."
"Could you check? Because I have a Doughnut Enterprise that requires a candy thermometer."
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"Would I know one if I saw one?" The sound of Gideon rummaging through a kitchen drawer.
"Maybe. Wouldn't it look like a thermometer?"
He laughed. "You don't know what it's supposed to look like?"
I opened the freezer to poke the dough. "No. I decided to make doughnuts for our bake sale recruiting table and I'm like halfway through and I realized I need a candy thermometer."
"I think this is it. Hold on," Gideon said. "Mom! Is this thing a candy thermometer and can Ruby borrow it?"
I couldn't hear what she was saying, but Gideon eventually said: "She doesn't want to loan it out."
"Tell her it's a doughnut emergency," I said.
"She's having a doughnut emergency," he said.
"Oh, and tell her it's for charity," I said.
"It's for charity," he said.
"And tell her it will look good on Nora's college applications if CHuBS does well."
Gideon laughed. "She already said yes. Should I drive it over?"
Oh.
Gideon was going to drive a candy thermometer over to my house. Was it possible the other night hadn't been a mercy flirt at all?
So sue me. I changed my shirt and put on red lipstick before he got there. Most any girl would have done the same.
***
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Gideon made a lot of noise about the houseboat. How cool it was, how he drove past the rows of Seattle houseboats all the time and had never been inside any of them, how much he liked the greenhouse, how amazing it must be to have so much nature right in your home.
My dad ate it up, of course, and raised his eyebrows at me in a hopeful way, as if to say, "Is this polite, intelligent and bohemian young man a new boyfriend? Can I begin to hope that you will become well-adjusted?"
I felt sorry for Dad for a second-because I know he worries about me--but then he pulled a complete Kevin Oliver move by saying, "Gideon, it's so nice to see Ruby has a new friend. I know she was lonely over winter break when Meghan and Nora were away."
I felt like retching. "He's Nora's brother, Dad."
"Okay. But he can still be your friend."
I was sure Gideon was going to run away screaming any second, but he walked over to the stove and asked me what I was measuring with the candy thermometer.
"Oil," I told him. "To fry the doughnuts."
"Can I watch?"
"Oh, urn. Sure."
We put on oven mitts and measured the temperature of the oil until it was 365 degrees. In between testing the oil, I rolled out the dough and cut circles in it with a cookie cutter.
Gideon stayed. He helped me put the circles into the oil with a spatula.
They fried and turned brown! It was amazing.
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We scooped them out with tongs and shook powdered sugar over them. Gideon ate one before it was cool and burned his mouth and had to suck on an ice cube. I got a splatter of oil on a vintage sweater that probably wouldn't come out, plus a small burn on my wrist. Still, we had doughnuts!
And more doughnuts.
We spread them on cookie trays covered in paper towels to soak up the oil. When the table was full, we put them on plates on the dining room chairs and on top of the credenza behind the sofa. We didn't talk that much-just "Watch out, that one's getting too dark" and "Here, your turn with the spatula," stuff like that.
We had taken the last batch of fried deliciousness out of the oil when my mother came back from Juana's.
With a Great Dane.
My stomach dropped.
"Surprise, Ruby!" she yelled, standing in the doorway and letting the cold air rush in.
Oh my God. She had believed me about the dog.
How could she have believed me?
The dog was beautiful, but enormous. His head was as high as my chest and he had pointy ears and a tail like a whip. He was spotted like a Dalmatian and barking in a friendly way.
Rouw! Rouw!
My mother had a leash on him, but as he lunged into the house, she bent down and undipped it. "Welcome to your new home, big boy. Say hello to Ruby."
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The dog ran over to me and smelted my hand, then licked me from fingertips to wrist in one giant swipe of tongue. ''Hiya, puppy," I said.
I love the way dogs want to lick you right away if they like you. They're so direct.
He sniffed Gideon briefly, then ran to the table. In a matter of seconds, the dog stood on his hind legs with his forefeet on a chair and ate an estimated twenty-two doughnuts. He spilled several trays and dusted the floor, the rug and one edge of the sofa with powdered sugar.
Oh no. All our hard work. All our deliciousness.
"Polka-dot, no!" My mother dashed over and grabbed him by the collar.
Polka-dot turned and gave her an enormous lick across the face, then ate another doughnut.
"Stop him!" I cried, and Mom was still saying "no"-- but Polka-dot outweighed her by probably forty pounds, and he was very much enamored of the fried deliciousness that was my Doughnut Enterprise. Mom yanked him, and Gideon went over and yanked him, and frankly, Polka-dot was too strong for both of them. He was willing to come off the table, but then he just began scarfing up the doughnuts at chair level. I felt like crying, but my mom and Gideon had lost control, so I went over to Polka-dot and tapped his nose, like I'd seen Juana do when her dogs misbehaved. "No!" I said firmly.
Polka-dot licked me and ate another.
I tapped his nose again. "That's people food!" I said.
He looked at me as if to say, "Isn't it good stuff? Thank you for sharing!"
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I had to admit, it would have been funny under other circumstances. He just looked so sure that I was going to understand his point of view. Still, a tear leaked out as I moved the single undamaged tray of doughnuts to the top of the refrigerator. I had worked so hard on them. Jackson would have been so impressed.
We just let Polka-dot have his way after that. He ate everything that was left on the floor. The four of us stood in silence, watching as he poked his head under the table, his tail snapping back and forth in doggy joy.
"At least he's cleaning the floor," said my father, who had been no help whatsoever during this entire escapade. "There won't be a speck of powdered sugar left when he's done."
Polka-dot wagged his tail.